


Letterbox Love

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Uhura, Don't copy to another site, F/F, Getting Together, Lesbian Chapel, Neighbours, Strongly AOS inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 23:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17089952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: A letter, delivered to the wrong address. That's enough to bring Nyota's life into contact with that of her neighbour's, a woman that she barely knows - but who might just turn her world upside down.





	Letterbox Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Star Trek Secret Santa Exchange 2018 (http://startreksecretsanta.tumblr.com/) and gifted to whimsicalstardust.tumblr.com - sorry, can't get my links to work!
> 
> We haven't seen Chapel in the AOS movies (sadly), so this is broadly TOS. However, I've taken a lot of inspiration from the AOS timeline (especially with characterisation) and have included Gaila, an AOS character. I hope that's not too disruptive!

_Thud._

Nyota started as the letterbox clattered and paper hit the floor. She was perched on the sofa, rapidly chewing her way through a sandwich. Their front door opened straight into the living room, so the post’s arrival was loud enough and close enough to interrupt her. In fact, it was an annoyingly frequent occurrence in their household,

Reluctantly, she heaved herself up. She stooped, still munching, and scooped up the small pile that had been delivered.

The first two items were flyers, nothing she was interested in. The electricity bill, which she slung onto the kitchen worktop for further consideration. And an envelope that looked fairly formal, but wasn’t addressed to her or Gaila.

It was marked for house 17. Nyota’s place was 17A — the house had originally been one, later split and sold off separately, leaving two small, much more affordable dwellings. Nyota shared hers with Gaila, a computing student, while the other was shared by a pair of siblings; she’d met the woman once, when she’d first moved in, and the brother was rarely at home.

Her watch told her she had three minutes before she had to be out of the house and on her way to a linguistics class. She sighed, abandoned her sandwich on the kitchen counter, and collected her bag. “Gaila!” she yelled. “On my way out!”

The reply was distant, from one of the bedrooms upstairs. “Okay! See you later!”

With that, she headed out, stopping to have her usual wrestle with the lock. It was a matter of a few steps to get to her neighbour’s door, which was painted an intimidatingly bright shade of blue.

No doorbell, not that she could see, so she resorted to hammering on the door with her knuckles. She paused, listening. No response. Again. Still nothing. Nobody home, by the looks of it.

Awkwardly, she fished a crumpled Post-It and a biro from her bag. Leaning against the door, she scrawled a note, wincing at her barely legible handwriting. Couldn’t be helped — she didn’t have time to write something out more neatly. Then she stuck the note and the envelope through the door, before turning and hurrying down the street.

* * *

It was another six hours before Christine got home. She tripped over something on her way in — something that her brother had clearly not thought to move. A closer inspection revealed a letter from her bank — joyous — and a battered scrap of paper covered in black spikes. It took her a moment to decipher it.

_Hi —_

_Think this is yours. Got delivered to mine this morning — think you were out?_

_Nyota_

She wasn’t great with names, but ‘Nyota’ was quite an unusual one and she thought that she could vaguely remember having a conversation with the woman. She often saw her and her roommate — she was fairly sure they weren’t a couple — going in and out. Uni students. Her brain failed her in regards to the name of Nyota’s roommate or what subject either was studying, though.

Still, she was touched that Nyota had thought to write a note, rather than just stick the letter through the postbox — or not deliver it at all. Somewhat reluctantly, she supposed it was worth saying thanks in person, even if the soles of her feet were aching and her eyeballs were dry and tired.

She put her bag down, had a short, terse conversation with her brother, then headed next door.

* * *

It was Gaila’s turn to cook, so she was in their ‘kitchen’ (really, it was too small and too poorly equipped to be called that), which was more-or-less just a kitchenette in one corner of the living room. Nyota was back on the sofa, this time occupied by laptop and her Instagram.

There was a gentle knock on the door, interrupting their scene of domesticity.

“I’m not getting it,” Gaila said, not pausing her chopping.

Reluctant to move, Nyota begrudgingly stood and moved towards the door.

It opened to reveal as woman about her age, with a halo of blonde hair and a face that seemed predisposed to a good-natured worry. She seemed tense, but she was friendly nonetheless. “Hi. You’re Nyota?”

“That’s me.” Nyota brushed her hair back. She took a guess, remembering that morning’s post situation. “It’s Christine, right?”

“Yes.” Christine smiled amicably. “I just wanted to thank you for the mail.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Nyota said. “I mean, at least I’ve properly talked to you now.”

They shared a laugh. “It seems insane that we’ve lived next to each other for over a year without having a real conversation,” she agreed.

“Actually, did you want to come in? Have a coffee or something?” she asked, impulsively, hoping that her housemate wouldn’t mind.

“I’d love to, honestly, but I’ve got to go home and make something to eat. My brother was supposed to be cooking and his answer was to get takeaway, but he ordered stuff that I don’t eat.” Christine grimaced, aware that she sounded ungrateful, but too annoyed at her brother to care.

A frown of solidarity. “Oh, well, you can eat with us, if you want. Gaila always makes more than we need-”

Gaila called out from inside the house. “That’s because you’re too skinny! I need to feed you up!”

It was a friendly tiff they’d had regularly ever since they’d started living together. Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Nyota continued. “So we’d be more than happy for you to partake.”

“Thank you, but I couldn’t impose like that.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Nyota reassured her. “Don’t let me pressure you, but it wouldn’t be any problem at all.”

“Really?” Christine was pleasantly surprised at her neighbours’ generosity. “If it’s not too much of a bother, then that would be wonderful.”

“Great!” Nyota stepped back from the doorway, allowing Christine the space to enter. “Make yourself at home.”

* * *

After that, they swiftly became friends. Christine was only a couple of years older than her, just qualified as a nurse and working ungodly hours at the local hospital. They had a lot in common: their sense of humour, their work ethic, their love of cat videos. Once they’d discovered the latter commonality, they were constantly sending each other ridiculous links.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Christine lately,” Gaila commented one evening. They were both buried in uni work.

“I guess so.” Nyota shrugged. “We get on well and she lives next door. It’s convenient.”

“She’s pretty, too,” Gaila added slyly.

Nyota ignored the obvious implication. She’d never thought about it, specifically, but she often admired the way that Christine’s eyes sparkled in humour or the way that her hair softened her face. “She is, isn’t she?”

“You’re hopeless.”

Nyota raised an eyebrow, a habit she’d picked up from her ex-boyfriend that often served her well. “How so?”

“You’re _clearly_ into her, but you’ve got a pathological aversion to doing anything about it.”

“I don’t even know if she’s interested!” Nyota protested.

Gaila rolled her eyes. “Sure, honey. Sure.”

“Shut up,” she said, entirely without venom.

Gaila just laughed.

* * *

On a rare Friday night off, Christine persuaded Nyota to go for a drink. It was the first time they’d gone out together, rather than sitting in one of their living rooms.

Rather uncreatively, they opted for a sort of pub-cum-bar that they both knew. It was close to the university, so it was popular with the students, and Nyota thought that she spotted a few staff as well.

She left Christine at a table and when to the bar to order. It was busy, but she wedged herself into the crowd and spoke to the harangued-looking bartender. While she was waiting for the man to sort their drinks out, she leant against the bar.

A hand tapped her on the shoulder. She turned. She was met by a familiar face, who inclined his head in greeting.

“Good evening, Nyota,” he said quietly.

“Evening, Spock.”

He was still as striking as ever. The corners of his mouth rose slightly — the closest he ever came to smiling, though his eyes revealed a deeper sentiment. “It’s good to see you. You look well.”

“I am, thank you. Busy.” Nyota nodded at him. “What about you?”

“Well.”

“This isn’t your usual scene,” she noted.

He nodded once, in acknowledgement. “No. I am accompanying some friends.”

“Same,” she said, gesturing towards Christine with a movement of her chin.

“I see-” Spock was interrupted by the bartender presenting her drinks. She took them with a brief word of thanks.

“I’d better go,” she said apologetically. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“Likewise.” Spock stepped back, gave her a nod, and turned back towards his own table, which was occupied by two other men — she didn’t recognise them, but one gave her a cocky wink. She fired back a withering look before she made her way across the room, a glass in each hand.

“Who was that?” Christine asked as she sat down.

“Well,” Nyota said, taking a sip of her drink. “That’s Spock.”

“Spock.” Christine repeated, blank. Then her eyes lit up in recognition. “As in your ex?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. Okay.” She took a minute to process that. “What were you guys talking about?”

“He was just asking about how I was. We’re still on good terms.”

“Why didn’t your relationship work out?”

She sighed. “Well, he’s a lecturer — I told you that, right?”

“You did. Surely you knew that a teacher-student thing was never going to work out?”

Nyota raised her hands in a gesture of defeat. “I thought it could work. He’s in physics, he never taught me. But there’s such a difference between a second-year student and someone that’s got their life together, y’know? You’re at different places in your life.”

Christine clucked sympathetically. “All part of the learning curve, honey.”

“It’s a shame, though. He’s a bit obtuse sometimes, but he’s alright. Smart, thoughtful.” Nyota cast a half-wistful glance across the room. “And cute.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not my type, if I’m honest.”

“No?” Nyota looked at her mischievously. “What’s your type, then?”

Christine laughed. “Typically, I prefer two X chromosomes.”

Uhura’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Mm.”

Swiftly followed by an exclamation of: “I can’t believe I didn’t figure that out!”

Christine snorted inelegantly. “It’s not like I go around broadcasting it.”

“Still!” In her amazement, she shook her head violently enough that Christine was almost concerned. “I need another drink,” Nyota concluded. “Because otherwise I’m going to feel like an utter idiot for the rest of the night.”

* * *

 

The more time she spent with Christine, the more Nyota liked her. The more Gaila’s words circulated in her head. There was more truth in them than she’d ever admit out loud.

If asked, Nyota would have said that Christine was one of her favourite people in the world. She liked the way that they could be open with each other. The way that they understood each other. Made each other laugh. Even though they hadn’t know each other for very long, they just...clicked.

These thoughts returned to her sporadically — sometimes at the oddest times, like today, as she trudged home from class. It was the middle of winter, dull and grey and chilly.

As she walked along the high street, bundled up in her winter clothes, she replayed a recent conversation in her mind. They hadn’t been talking about anything serious — Nyota had spent most of it complaining about one of her teachers. Somehow, somewhere along the line, Christine had managed to get the whipped cream from her hot chocolate on the tip of her nose, and had spent thirty seconds trying to lick it off herself while Nyota collapsed into giggles opposite. The memory brought a smile to her face.

And it was then that she had an epiphany.

On a whim, she ducked into a nearby card shop. It wasn’t anything special, just one of those chain places, crammed with floor-to-ceiling shelves, but it would serve her purpose. There was an overwhelming number of options, ranging from garish to dull to superbly expensive — the colourful mishmash made her oddly jittery. She elected for tastefulness, veering away from excessive glitter and sappy poetry. She dimly recalled that roses were Christine’s favourite flower, too — she spied a card with a watercolour rose, and opted for that.

The man on the till gave her a kind smile, as if he’d sensed and understood her quandary. He probably saw it all the time, she supposed. Despite her unsettlement, she returned it, before heading back out into the cold. All the way home, she worried her lip, trying to coalesce her emotions into words.

Thankfully, the house was empty when she arrived — she adored Gaila, but at that moment she and her thoughts needed space. She headed straight to the sofa, dumping her bag on the floor. There was a book abandoned on the arm of a sofa, which she balanced on one knee and used as a kind of desk.

She wrote a title: _Things You Should Know_. And she underlined it, twice, as she collected her thoughts.

_One: you make every day better._

_Two: your smile lights up a room._

_Three: you don’t take excuses from anyone, but that doesn’t stop you being empathetic._

It was surprisingly easy; she never had to stop to scour her mind or construct something. It flowed naturally, save some awkward phrasing. After all, she was a linguist, not a poet. She continued in the same vein until she reached ten — _you’re beautiful_ — where she stopped and reread the list.

Hm. It felt right and true, every word — but it felt incomplete. She chewed the end of a pen, debating with herself.

Eventually, slowly, she returned her pen to paper:

_Eleven: I sound like a kid, but I like you. Really like you._

It was an act of self-confession as much as a love letter. When it was finished, Nyota released a breath, a weight lifting off her shoulders. Somewhere inside her, the emotion still smouldered, but she could think again, at least.

With a spike of determination, she pulled the envelope towards her. It was a delicate shade of pink, so pretty that Nyota almost felt she was defiling it when she inscribed Christine’s name.

She sealed it carefully.

Gritting her teeth against the inhospitable weather, she made her way outside again. It was a short trip to Christine’s door, where she paused, hesitating.

At that moment, she knew that Christine would be asleep, recovering from a night shift. But, if she delivered it there and then, it wouldn’t be long before she read it and Nyota wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

She shook her head sharply. _Get over yourself, Uhura._

Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed it through the letterbox, hearing it drop to the floor. She paused, one hand on the door: it didn't matter now, she couldn't take it back, but she was hit by a sudden jolt of doubt. Was she risking a friendship for something that may or may not come to fruition? What if Christine saw it and never mentioned it? What was she to do then?

* * *

The next time she saw Christine was a few days later, on a Tuesday evening. She went next door to ask about some repairs that the landlord wanted to do — they needed to decide on a date that was convenient for all three parties.

She tapped on the door with no small measure of nervousness, but when Christine answered the door, she was acting perfectly normally. Their initial conversation was short and practical, but, as they often did, they wandered off topic, and Nyota ended up sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea in front of her. No matter how hard she tried, her doubts niggled at the back of her brain.

Their conversation was nearing its natural conclusion when Christine suddenly seemed to remember something.

“Just stay there for one second, would you?” Christine got up and plucked something off the kitchen counter. She retraced her footsteps and sat, sliding the thing across the table. It was the card, of course. “Did you send this?”

Nyota’s heart plummeted, then kicked into overdrive. She considered denying it, but decided that was a surefire way to annoy Christine, since she would eventually find out about it, somehow. “How did you know?” Nyota asked, with a weak attempt at bravado.

“Your handwriting,” she replied, as if it were obvious.

“Right.”

An awkward silence.

The fact that Nyota hadn’t tried to laugh it off told Christine almost everything she needed to know, but she still had to ask. “What you wrote — is it true?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Pretty much. I mean, it’s a bit wordy at points, but yeah.”

“But — how?” Christine protested. She visibly cast her mind back to every romance-related conversation they’d had over the past few months. “Your type is clever and snarky and attractive and… I don’t know… mysterious.”

“Well, I’ve found that maybe mystery isn’t what I need. Other than that, you’ve just described yourself.”

“I - okay, but you’ve already told me about Spock and why you guys didn’t work out. The age gap-”

“It’s different with you,” Nyota said firmly. “We work on a level that Spock and I never did.”

Christine took a deep breath. “In that case… yes.”

She tilted her head, perplexed. “‘Yes’, what?”

“Yes. As in, me too.”

She blinked. “Ah - I - really?”

“Yes, really,” she said, biting back her amusement at Nyota’s stunned expression.

“Wasn’t expecting that.” Nyota bit her lip, trying to get a hold on her scrambled emotions. “In that case… d’you want to go out for dinner sometime? Properly, I mean.”

Christine's eyes lit up. “Like a date?”

A self-conscious glance to the side, combing back her hair with her fingers. “Yeah, a date.”

“I’m free on Saturday.”

Nyota couldn't help herself — she grinned, ear to ear. “That sounds brilliant.”

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't beta-ed, so any mistakes are entirely my own - please let me know if you find any errors.


End file.
